The Music Room
by JustYourAverageCasualFan
Summary: There was a pause. A weighty pause, the kind of pause in which every second held a thousand thoughts and possible courses of action, the kind of pause in which the world stopped and waited with baited breath. Then, at last, came the conclusion: "No!" One-shot.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This, as you might be able to tell, is set sometime just before 'The Midnight Heir' story in the 'Bane Chronicles' but doesn't actually relate to the plot much. I haven't read TID for quite a while, so sorry if it's OOC. Cassandra Clare owns the Infernal Devices. Please read, review if you want and enjoy! **

The Music Room

Will found her in the old music room. Tessa. Soft moonlight bathing her still form as she sat on the piano bench, head bent low. A few wisps of fringe obscured her fine features, painted silver by the intermittent flare of the small orb of light she held, cradled like a precious stone in her cupped hand. Hands that rested on a well-worn book, lying on her lap, closed; Will suspected it had been for some time.  
He shifted in the doorway, unwilling to disturb her contemplation but equally curious to know what thoughts so occupied his wife's mind. He always did want to know what she was thinking. Tessa let out a startled gasp and spun around, clutching at the cream shawl wrapped around her slim shoulders. Will rocked back, bearing his palms in surrender, but frowned- he hadn't anticipated such a fearful reaction. Tessa relaxed, leaning back against the cloth covered piano. Taking this as permission, Will crossed in to the room, slipping his hand around Tessa's as he settled down next to her. Automatically, her pale fingers closed around his, a small connection that sent an ecstatic, almost childlike giddiness dashing through him.  
"I love you." He told her simply, his soft voice clear in the quiet night.  
"And I you." Tess replied, shifting closer to Will until their bodies were touching. With the contact came a tide of warmth, pooling around Will and gently submerging him in contentedness.

However, Will was nothing but attentive and even a fool would notice that Tessa had been anything _but_ content recently.  
He wrapped a strong arm around her waist and, with all the mixed gentleness and determination gleamed from years of marriage, asked "Are you alright?"  
There was a pause. A weighty pause, the kind of pause in which every second held a thousand thoughts and possible courses of action, the kind of pause in which the world stopped and waited with baited breath. Then, at last, came the conclusion: "No!" Tessa cried, breath hitching. With a semi-human whine, Tess covered her face, tears streaming down her fingers as her shoulders shook with silent sobs.  
Will hesitated only a moment before he pulled her in to a hug, the pleasant smell of lavender teasing his nose as he stroked her silky hair, murmuring sweet nothings in to the ear that had suddenly appeared against his neck. At last, when her sobs had wound down to steady breathing, Tessa pulled away. Her hair was mussed, eyes red and face blotchy. She was – obviously- still beautiful, but it broke Will's heart a little every time he saw her like that. Will spun around, straddling the piano bench, and took her hands in his.  
"Tell me what's wrong." He beseeched her, trying to meet her gaze.  
She shook her head, eyes downcast.  
"Please," Will tried again, a thumb stroking her smooth skin "tell me why you've been so glum of late."  
Tessa merely shook her head, saying sadly "I would but you wouldn't like it."  
Will could have pointed out that is wasn't very plausible that he would particularly like anything which caused his wife to weep in music rooms at night, but instead he tried a different tack. Putting a hand to his forehead like the heroine of a melodrama he moaned in mock despair "Oh, woe is me! My wife, my very own, has been colluding and consorting with the most trusted of the modern man's companion- _the milkman!"  
_Tessa giggled, although the usually light sound appeared dampened by her worries. Will took her hands again. After some apparent contemplation, Tess too decided to straddle the piano bench. She shuffled forwards until their knees were touching then, taking a deep breath, she began to talk.

Tessa told Will of her concern for their son and his misdemeanours, which he could empathise with. She explained her qualms about the ever-marching armies of time, which Will could sympathise with. Then, with halting words and shameful looks, Tessa told him of the rumour haunting her every step, the sneering looks that were tattooed on to the back of her skull and the spiteful slurs which festered in her heart. _That_ made Will fairly angry. Livid, perhaps. Irate. Some choice words were certainly aired after the reception of that news. And news it was- Will was no fool, he knew some members of the Shadowhunter community were less than willing to embrace his wife with open arms. Yet what he had never counted on- what, in Will's books, stripped those concerned of any respect- was those few dissenters having the gall to flounce their bigotry in front of the woman herself.  
"If any of them ever come here looking for help I shall personally tell Bridget to tell them we're not in. And then I'll set ducks on them." He fumed, fists clenched.  
Tessa frowned at him and, although Will could tell that some part of her liked the idea, admonished him "We have to give them help. We live in the only Institute in London."  
"Well then we'll give them sub-par help." Will grumbled.  
Tessa shook her head, a lightness returning to her eyes that had been absent before. She stood up, bent down to retrieve her book (which had slipped unnoticed on to the floor) then held out her hand to Will. He took it, allowing himself to be led through the archaic halls and back to bed. There, snuggled down underneath the quilt, arms wrapped around his sleeping wife, Will couldn't help but feel that life wasn't all that bad. Even if he was going to have some serious…words… tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So, this is a two-shot now. Enjoy a short piece of revenge and forgive the clumsy way in which I handle action sequences :) Also, upon request I have tried to space out the text a bit more but if it's awful to read please tell me. **

Revenge

It was a week later that Will got his revenge, although he didn't know it as he kissed Tessa goodbye. He was heading to a Downworlder haunt, a favourite of his younger self, acting on a tip-off the Institute had received from a young Werewolf girl that very morning. Apparently, someone was selling some very unpleasant drugs.

The walk there was pleasant, despite the heavy stench of the Thames rolling off the docks. It almost felt good to be ignored, just another cloaked nobody in search of alcohol drenched oblivion. Eventually, Will turned down a narrow side-street. To the lay observer, the pub would have appeared as an abandoned hat shop, but it was easy for him to see the light creeping through the gaps in the curtained windows.

The moment Will stepped in the door, he was transported through the decades to another, more desperate time. The place hadn't changed one bit. It was a Tudor building, the walls knocked out to form one large floor, sofas and tables covering every available piece of flagstone. Even the smell was the same: sweet, bitter and thick.

Spotting an unoccupied seat right in the corner of the pub, Will headed towards it, snagging two empty glasses from under the patrons noses as he went. It wasn't as if they were alert enough to notice. Once seated, Will slumped forwards, wrapping his cloak around him- it wouldn't do to reveal the glinting weapons strapped to his gear, or the runes covering his skin for that matter.

The werewolf, who wished to remain anonymous, had told them that the crooked dealer would appear at 10 o' clock exactly. That was two minutes away. Attentively, Will fixed his clear blue eyes on the door. Sure enough, at the predicted time precisely, three men entered. Two were mountainous henchmen, grim-faced and unshaven. Mundane employees, Will suspected. But the third, the leader…he was short, dressed in a black greatcoat and somewhatS familiar.  
"Well, blow me." Will muttered.  
The werewolf had said nothing about the dealer being a member of the Enclave.

Will soon discovered that the Nephilim in the black coat, who went by the frankly ridiculous name of Edgar Brokerblade, was not disposed to doing illegal things conveniently, which didn't endear him to Will, because- following the revealing conversation he had with his wife seven days ago- he had become very tired of inconvenient members of the Enclave. Furthermore, the chair Will was sitting in seemed determined to poke him in every uncomfortable and invasive place possible. He highly suspected it was of Faerie origin.

The barmaid, a spiffy young thing, was just calling last orders when the monotony was broken. Evidently, Brockerblade had been waiting for a signal or perhaps for the last stragglers to be distracted because he chose that moment to rise, closely followed by his two musclemen, and cross over to the opposite side of the room. Surreptitiously, Will stood up, making like a drunk stumbling to the bar and followed them. Brockerblade appeared to be tapping a stained wall panel. One two, one, one two.

How very clichéd.

A few feet away from the panel, Will 'fell' in to a chair, right in front of a very surprised couple. They were vampires, Will noticed, and they both seemed to have an objection to clothing.  
"I saw you didn't have a chaperone." He quipped, winking at the pair, before spinning off the seat and striding towards the panel. The panel in front of which Brockerblade and his henchmen were stood, weapons drawn and directed unwaveringly towards him.

Will froze. Then, he smirked, whipping off his cloak to reveal his own arsenal. Feeling (possibly a little too much like) the hero of a novel, he drew two knives from their holster, spinning them around like guns in a Western.

"What are you doing here?" Brockerblade demanded, voice nasal and grating. He reminded Will of a strict school teacher, glaring disapprovingly down -or rather up- the bridge of his hooked nose.

"Now, now, I think you know that." Will crooned, raising an eyebrow at the seraph blade the old Shadowhunter held "And I'm also fairly certain you know what bad form it is for you to use that on me."

Brockerblade cackled, flint eyes cruel "Oh, it isn't as if _you _care about form. I know your wife."

Will's whole body tensed, a muscle in his jaw twitching. He gripped his own knife tighter "What did you just say?"

"I said," Brockerblade sneered "I know your wench."

Quick as a flash, Will flicked his wrists. With an accuracy learnt only through the patience of his Parabati, a knife became embedded in the shoulder of each of the goons, pinning them to the wall. Ignoring the patron's cries of surprise, Will strode forwards.

Brokerblade widened his stance, preparing for battle, although his gaze flittered nervously to his struggling henchmen.  
"Tell me," Will began, voice deadly quiet "What's wrong with my wife?"

Brockerblade stared him down, lip curling "She's less of a woman and more of a mutt."  
Will saw red, anger driving his fist in to Brockerblade's skull. The hand he drew back was bloody and tingling, but miraculously the bastard who insulted his Tess was still standing. Remarkably, he was not only still standing but was holding a glittering rapier to Will's chest.

"Are challenging me to a duel?" he queried, incredulous. _By the Angel, I'm too old for this_.

"Yes." Brockerblade assured him, a smirk playing across his lips.

With a sigh, Will drew his sword "Fine, then." It wasn't a rapier, but it would have to do "If it'll make you happy."  
With a shock of excitement, Will began to fight.

* * *

He woke up in the infirmary. It was morning, cheery light streaming through the windows and on to the white sheets covering his aching body.  
Glancing to his right, Will was met with Tessa's exasperated- but nonetheless relieved- gaze. He smiled. She was wearing and eggshell blue dress which perfectly accentuated her eyes and for the first time in a long while she seemed contented.

"Do I want to know?" Will enquired, voice rasping through a dried mouth.  
Tess handed him some water in an enamel mug, smiling "You fell off a warehouse roof. _Duelling_."

"You seem awfully happy about that. Where's the fretting? The anxious pacing?" Will teased.

Tessa laughed, patting his hand affectionately "Oh, don't worry- there was plenty of that!"

Will caught her fingers, kissing each one of them in turn "I should hope so, too. You'll never find another husband as good-looking as me!"

"Oh, I don't know…" Tessa said playfully, pretending to think about it.

Will smirked, dragging himself up to cup the back of his wife's head, gently pulling her lips down to meet his. The kiss was slow and gentle, but if anything that made him feel all the more alive.

A cough at the Infirmary door broke them apart. James was there, a dark expression shoved cleanly off his face as he met his father's eyes.  
"Do anything I wouldn't last night?" Will asked, trying to maintain a light tone.

James raised an eyebrow "You were duelling on top of a warehouse. And a boat. Also underneath a bridge."

"And how do you know that?"

"Because I was following you." James scoffed, leaning against the doorframe "It's not every day you see your father running pell-mell about the dockyards duelling a member of the Enclave." James turned to go, pausing half-way out of the door "They're going to put him on trial, you know. I'll leave you two to it." Then he was gone.

"Well," Tessa said, perching on the bed with _that _look in her eyes "You heard what he said."


End file.
